Something Wicked
by sienna27
Summary: Universe V: Story 1 of 1. Bonus Challenge #1 "Stephen King - Salem's Lot." The team gets lost heading to a case in Maine, and end up veering into Stephen King's vampire infested, Salem's Lot. Anything that belongs to him (besides the town itself) will be mentioned. The rest is all mine. M rating for whatever violence may come.
1. The Storm

**Author's Note**: This is Universe V. And yes, we are skipping ahead a few letters there, and not as teased to the Z is for Zombie, but instead to V as in VAMPIRE! Yes, we're doing a vampire story! And it is a crossover with a book, and no it is NOT Twilight :) This is a throwback to literally the very first bonus that Kavi and I wrote for our prompts community, a crossover with Stephen King's, Salem's Lot. So obviously WAY darker undead world. There are no sparkles here :) If you don't know the story (though it's highly recommended reading) essentially vampires take over a small, secluded, town in Maine.

Why is there a new story going up when there are so many unfinished stories in existence? You can read that down at the bottom. If you choose to jump into this one, you need to know that it's again a Girl spinoff because that is my base, and you should **read Chapters 1 to 36 of Falling in Love With a Girl** before you start this one.

For the Girl'verse "connoisseurs" this would be in January just after events in the bathroom. For general recap, Hotch is long separated, but still a month from signing the divorce papers. And JJ has just found out she's pregnant, but nobody else knows that yet. In Girl, her pregnancy isn't generally known until May, and again, this is January.

And FYI, I make no promises here for the health, safety or welfare, for any members of the team. It's an M. Shit's gonna get messy!

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><p><strong>Bonus Challenge #1 - Vampires<strong>

Author: Stephen King

Title Challenge: Salem's Lot

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><p><span><strong>The Storm<strong>

"Hotch, are you sure you know where we _are_, man?"

Morgan's sharp tone cut through the tense silence that had been filling the SUV for the last half hour. And the response to that bizarre question, from the back seat . . . where Emily, JJ, and Reid were crammed together, huddling for warmth . . . was a confused furrowing of brows, and shaking of heads. Then Emily shot Derek a scowl that he couldn't see.

What the hell was he talking about?! Of course Hotch didn't KNOW where they were. NOBODY knew where they were! That was the whole FUCKING problem!

They were lost!

And Emily could see, from her vantage point behind the passenger's seat, that though he was attempting to maneuver around a blowing snow drift that was blocking half the roadway, still Hotch took a split second to shoot Derek a nasty look across the front seat.

Though it was dark outside, his face was clearly visible in the dashboard lights.

"No, _Derek_," Hotch bit out tightly as his eyes snapped back to the blinding white snow splattering over the front windshield, "I do NOT know where we are. Do you? Because if you do, NOW, or perhaps forty-five FUCKING minutes ago, would have been the time to share that INFORMATION!"

Hotch's last words were a straight up growl, punctuated by a smack to the steering wheel. Both actions combined, caused Derek's mouth to snap shut, and for Emily and JJ to exchange a quick, worried, look.

That was bad.

Yes, under the circumstances, Derek's question was obnoxious, but still, Hotch almost never lost his temper! So it really wasn't good news for ANYONE stuck in that vehicle, if he was losing it right now. Because right now . . . Emily's anxious gaze shifted back out her side window . . . they were already SERIOUSLY fucked!

The day had started out pretty normally though.

At the morning briefing, JJ said they'd been asked to assist with a series of missing children cases happening around East Millinocket, Maine. The two most recent were just last week, but apparently the disappearances had been happening off and on for some years. Until now though, the investigations had always just been handled internally. Which was a bit odd given the scope of missing person's reports in the file they were sent . . . almost forty . . . but the team was chalking that one up to old fashioned Yankee pride. After all, they were talking about the backwoods of Maine. Which, regardless of the year on the calendar, still wasn't a part of the country likely to ask for help from outsiders.

Yankees took care of themselves.

So what had changed this week? Well, now they had a new sheriff. One who had just moved to the area after retiring from twenty-five years working homicide on the Boston P.D. And when those two little boys hadn't arrived home from school last week, after immediately raising a region-wide Amber alert (which the previous sheriffs had never done), he'd started flipping through the old case files. That's when he'd realized those two boys were just the latest in a long line of young children who'd disappeared over the last twenty years.

More than thirty of them were just in the last ten.

Immediately seeing the horrifying pattern that he couldn't understand how his predecessors had missed, he'd immediately called down to his old homicide buddies on the BPD. One of them had referred him to the BAU. Last night JJ had received an email asking if they wouldn't mind coming up to take a look around, because he was pretty sure he had a serial killer in the area. And after reviewing the paperwork he'd sent them that morning, the team was pretty sure he did too.

So they had all, minus Dave (who was attending a funeral in New York) grabbed their bags and headed out to the jet. They'd landed in Bangor a little after four with snow in the forecast, but none falling at that point. And because it was just the five of them for now . . . Dave would be joining them tomorrow . . . Hotch had decided to take just take the one Suburban rather than the usual two.

Dave could pick up the other one when he arrived.

So they'd set out for East Millinocket in bitterly cold, but essentially clear, weather. It was supposed to be about a two hour drive, a straight shot going north. The flurries started after the first half hour. And then there was a detour on the road. A down tree.

That's where things started to go wrong.

Though there had been a highway man there to give alternate directions, they seemed to be the only ones that had taken that road. The road that was supposed to take them northwest for approximately forty minutes, before they turned right and cut back to the east again.

They were supposed to end up right in the center of East Millinocket.

But it was not ten minutes after they'd taken the turn to go west, that the storm had whipped up out of nowhere. It had become a complete whiteout within maybe twenty minutes, and then they'd totally lost their bearings. And that had happened right at the point where they were supposed to make the turn back to the east. Hence their current status.

Totally fucking lost.

Ordinarily of course, any one of them could have just whipped out a smart phone and gotten a GPS reading or called for help. But the GPS seemed to have been knocked out, and they'd lost all cell service about an hour ago.

That was when they hit the forest.

Yeah, that was the other thing. They weren't just lost in a snowstorm in one of the least populous counties, of the least populous states in the country, they were also lost in a God damn FOREST! Like Hansel and Freaking Gretel! That is if Hansel and Gretel were five well trained federal agents carrying enough fire power in their vehicle to take over a very small country.

Which they were not.

But either way, at the moment their weapons didn't matter. Again, nor did their phones. Because now that the sun had set, everything visible in the headlights, was completely white.

White road, white ground, white trees.

They hadn't seen another vehicle, or even so much as a sign post, or a side road, in over an hour. Just after they'd made the detour. And peering over Hotch's shoulder, Emily could see that for the sake of their dwindling gas rations, they REALLY needed to find some kind of shelter, very soon. Because with the wind buffering the SUV, she knew that it was probably a good ten below zero outside. So it was going to suck BIG TIME, if they ran out of gas out there.

They'd freeze to death before morning.

And she could now hear Derek making that point to Hotch as well. The 'we need to find shelter before we run out of gas,' one. And seeing Hotch's fists clench around the steering wheel, Emily decided to step in and handle Derek's idiocy herself.

It was the only useful thing she'd been able to do in an hour.

"Hey, Captain Obvious!" she yelled from the backseat. "Would you happen to have any useful suggestions that we could undertake right now? Or are you just feeling good busting Hotch's balls about crap he can't control?"

For a moment there was stunned silence in the cab, and then Emily heard Morgan suck in a breath right before he whipped his head around.

"Excuse me, girl?!"

"Excuse nothing, Derek," she scowled, "you're being a dick. We all know what our problems are. If you don't have any solutions on how to resolve said problems, shut up!"

"Don't tell me to shut up!" He shot back. To which she poked her finger in his back.

"I'll tell you to shut up if I NEED to tell you to shut up! So, why don't you take your big, fat fu . . ."

Before Emily could get out the rest of it . . . though admittedly the rest of the sentence was going to be mostly expletives you would not use in front of your mother . . . Hotch cut her off with a sharp, "PRENTISS!" which she knew meant that he had already guessed how the rest of her sentence was going to turn out.

And when her eyes snapped up to his in the rearview mirror, she saw him giving her a head shake, so she slumped back against the seat.

"That would have been a good one too," she mumbled. Then in the dash light, she saw Hotch's mouth quiver for the briefest of seconds, so she knew at least she'd been able to lighten his mood a little bit.

Good.

Because she knew that he was blaming himself for this mess they were in. Even though the mess wasn't his fault at all. The route had seemed clear, and the storm had blown in before anybody had even realized it was a storm and not just a squall. At that point it had been too late to turn back, or to get shelter.

They were already in the middle of nowhere.

And she could see him now taking a breath, and then slowly letting it out. And though she would have liked to have asked him how he was doing, and to reassure him that nobody blamed him for the situation, but she would never engage in conversation like that in front of the others. The recent shift in their relationship, the one that now allowed personal conversations whereas in the past they would have been completely verboten, was just that.

Personal.

And even as she felt JJ and Reid squirming next to her, she could hear Hotch clearing his throat. It seemed he had decided it was time for a 'rah, rah, pull together,' speech. And it probably was. Because if Derek opened his mouth and said something stupid again, she was probably going to club him with the butt of her pistol.

And that was going to make a mess.

"I know everyone is a bit on edge," she heard Hotch state quietly, "myself included. But as Prentiss has already so succinctly pointed out, as only she can," seeing him shoot her a look in the mirror, her eyes crinkled slightly, "we are all already aware of our issues at the moment, and I'm presuming that if any of you had any fresh ideas on how to resolve them, you would have shared them by now. But," his gaze flickered briefly down to the gas gauge . . . Emily could see they had less than a half tank left, "by my estimation we only have maybe another hour or so left on this tank. And if we haven't found shelter by the time the tank runs dry, that is obviously going to be a serious problem."

"So JJ," Hotch tipped his head as he briefly met her eyes in the mirror, "you're in charge of finding us some extra layers. Fortunately we do have the ready bags with us, but I want you to look in the way back. Get the vests, any blankets, hell, even the evidence bags," he looked back to the road, "people could line their boots with them to help keep their feet dry. Just anything you think might have some dual use. Because," his gaze snapped down to the time and temperature reading, "the air temperature is twelve," he looked back out the windshield, "and with the way it's blowing out there, the wind chill is probably negative twelve. So worst case, whether it's walking, or hunkering down, we're still going to need every layer we can get."

At their current speed, fifteen to twenty miles per hour, it could easily take them hours to find a town. But with the way the snow was piling up . . . a good two inches on the ground now, and it was heavy and wet hitting the windows . . . he didn't want to risk a spin out by going any faster. The bottom layer on the road was probably ice by now.

It would be suicide to gun it.

JJ was already unbuckling her seat belt, before Hotch had even finished talking. And when he did, she gave him a swift nod, "right, right, I got it," she murmured while turning to climb over the seat into the back row.

Reid gave her a boost.

Once she was situated in the back row, pulling their bags over from the way back so she could see what else was in there, Hotch snapped on the middle dome light. It illuminated the whole back half of the vehicle.

Then his attention shifted to Emily.

"Prentiss, you're in charge of food and water." He called back to JJ. "JJ, yell out what you find for supplies, Prentiss will make an inventory, in case we need to figure out rations later."

Hopefully they wouldn't have to ration anything. But under the circumstances, it was best to prepare for the worst. Mostly though, he was having them make these lists now, because it was something to keep them occupied.

It would lower their stress levels to stay busy.

"Yep," Emily nodded as she started pulling off her gloves so she could get the pen and interview pad from her inner pocket, "I'll take care of it."

As she unzipped her parka to get her writing utensils, she heard Hotch giving Morgan orders to tally up their weapons, ammunition, flashlights and batteries. Again, JJ was instructed to yell out what she found in the back.

Seeing Morgan then start patting the pockets of his puffy coat for a pen, and knowing he wouldn't have one in there . . . he'd never worn that coat before, it was new . . . Emily felt a little twinge of guilt for yelling at him. Yes, he _had_ been annoying with his questions, but he'd only been asking them because he was getting antsy. And when he got antsy he needed to talk things through.

And she knew that.

So she decided that this was a good opportunity to make peace. It was never good to let things fester. Not in their line of work.

Too many bad things could happen.

"Here," she tapped his shoulder with a the blue Bic in her hand, "take this one. I've got a spare." When he turned in his seat, reaching back to take the instrument out of her hand, Emily gave him a little smile.

"Still friends?" she whispered hopefully, and his eyes crinkled.

"Of course we're still friends. It's not the first time you've called me a dick."

"And it won't be the last," she immediately shot back with a smirk. Hearing Hotch clear his throat, Emily looked up to see him giving her a look in the rearview mirror.

She winked at him.

Then she looked back at Derek.

"Here," she tore off a page from her notebook, "I've got extra paper too."

His lip quirked up.

"Thanks."

Then he turned back around, now fully armed with list making supplies, to start making his own list.

As she was digging out her other pen, Emily heard Reid clear his throat.

"Um, Hotch. Don't you have anything for me to do?"

"Ah right, Spencer," Hotch nodded, "yes, I do have a job for you. Presuming we do run out of gas, I need you to, quietly to yourself, figure out our best options from there. Basically how long can we survive walking, versus how long we can survive inside here."

That was about as complicated a nonsense task, as he could think for him.

"But, Hotch," Reid's brow wrinkled, "there are so many variables there that would affect the answers for each of us individually."

"That's fine Reid." Hotch nodded as he turned up the windshield wipers a notch, "just write it down, and if the time comes that might help make our decisions on staying or going."

Though Emily was pretending like she wasn't paying attention to their conversation, at Hotch's words, still her mouth twisted in a faint, wistful smile. Because she was quite sure that he had had already decided if the time came, who would be walking for help, and who would be sheltering in place.

Basically he and Derek would be going, and the rest of them would be staying.

But he also knew that Spencer needed something to do too. And these were varied calculations for five different people or different heights and weight and ages. He would figure all the numbers out perfectly.

And that math that would keep his brain busy for a few minutes.

Because sure enough, as soon as Hotch stopped speaking, Reid immediately got down to business using the calculator on his otherwise useless phone.

Emily quietly passed him a piece of paper to write down his results. Then she patted his knee, and went back to her own list.

She'd already written down all of the supplies she had with her:

_Two bottles of water, a half empty bottle of Diet Coke leftover from the plane, four chewy chocolate granola bars, three mini boxes of raisins, one snack bag of pizza flavored Combos (just picked up at the airport because they sounded like a good idea at the time), pack of Ring Dings (also just picked up at the airport because fuck it, they were Ring Dings and when do you see Ring Dings at the airport) and then lastly, two cellophaned, squished nearly flat, Hostess cupcakes that she kept forgetting to take out of the side pocket of her bag._

Hmph . . . she tipped her head while reading it all over again . . . that was actually a pretty good haul. And those were just her supplies! Granted, they needed a hell of a lot more liquids to get by for any length of time, but even what she had alone was enough food to last the five of them until tomorrow. So basically she was thinking they should be in good shape if everyone else had a comparable amount of stuff with them.

And they all should.

Given that they never knew what kind of facilities they'd end up with from town to town, everyone generally carried a few of their own personal favorite snacks, everywhere they went. Basically they packed like boxcar hobos.

Thank God.

And it was just at that point where she'd finished writing down her own supplies, that JJ interrupted her train of thought.

"You guys ready for me to start rattling stuff off from back here?"

"Yep," Emily nodded, "I'm good, but I already know what I have for food, and Morgan," she turned slightly to direct her comments to the front seat, "I've got my Sig, it's a P226, I'm carrying two clips and I have four extra in my bag."

Morgan nodded while jotting down her ammo.

"Six clips," he mumbled, "got it."

"Actually," Hotch cut in, "make that thirteen clips total for the P226. I also have two on me, plus five in my bag. And I've got two spares for the Glock 23."

Then JJ yelled out from the back.

"I've got five more Glock clips."

"All right," Morgan scribbled down the updated number, "then counting what's in _my_ bag, that brings the count up to thirteen." Then he turned slightly.

"Reid?"

Spencer lifted his head up to state distractedly, "one box of .38 cal. It's three quarters full."

Then he went back to his numbers.

"K," Morgan projected his voice, "anything else Jayje?"

"Yeah," she tapped the case under her feet, "three unloaded standard issue, Remington 870 shotguns, and four boxes of shells. That's the last of the weapons. But we also have," she leaned over to look into the way back again, "six large Mag lights, no extra batteries, three pairs of night vision binoculars, two pairs of regular binoculars, pack of flex-cuffs, box of evidence bags, box of rubber gloves, pack of Lysol wipes, eight bullet proof vests, basic first aid kit, unopened, a box of flares, a set of walkie talkies, a bottle of anti-freeze, an ice scraper, a tire iron, and," she turned back around, "one spare tire. That's it for you Derek. Want me to repeat anything?"

It was a crap load of stuff to list off at once, but . . . they were trained to remember a crap load of stuff at once. So JJ was figuring he was probably fine. And sure enough, though she could still see him bent over his list, writing, he called back, "no, no, I'm good."

So she turned her attention to Emily.

"Ready Em?" She asked fairly rhetorically, given that she could clearly see her friend had pen and paper in hand. And sure enough, Emily tipped her head.

"Shoot."

"All right, for what's in the SUV itself, they gave us a half a case of Aquafina water, which equals seven sixteen ounce bottles. They're cold, but not frozen."

She looked up.

"And that's it," she shrugged, "unless there's some gum in the glove compartment."

"Hmph," Emily mumbled, "okay. But that's just as well because we needed the water, so at least they gave us some." Then she looked up and around at her teammates.

"Do you guys know what you have for food?" She asked them generally, "and if not, do you mind JJ digging in your bags to find out?"

It turned out that nobody cared about JJ rifling through their stuff, because nobody knew exactly what was left in their bags, except for Hotch because he'd just re-packed his. And he had quote, "four peanut butter protein bars, two snack packages of mixed nuts, one mini bag of chocolate covered pretzels, two bottles of water, and two bottles of Gatorade."

Emily's eyes crinkled slightly when Hotch mentioned the pretzels.

She'd bought them for him at the airport.

And with him and her done, from there it was JJ rattling off what was left in the last three bags.

Hers: Two unopened sleeves of saltines, large bag of Hershey kisses, large bag of craisins, three strawberry Soy Joy bars, one chocolate almond Clif bar, two bottles of water, and a six pack of mini-ginger ales.

Morgan's: Six chocolate protein bars, a half empty jar of peanut butter, a roll of Ritz crackers, two Monster energy drinks, and one bottle of water.

And finally, Spencer's: Two packages of Red Vines, a large bag of store bought Oatmeal raisin cookies, a quart sized ziplock filled with double stuffed Oreos, and three bottles of Cherry Coke.

It didn't surprise Emily in the slightest, that Reid had packed nothing but sugar. But this wasn't the time for commentary. She'd speak to him about the dangers of rotting out his teeth, when they got home.

For now, as she tucked the list into her inside pocket before pulling her gloves back on, she was just feeling pretty good about them having this inventory done. Her gaze shifted to the man in the front seat.

Hotch was right. Better to get organized now for a worst case scenario, and then cross their fingers that they wouldn't need to go into survival mode. After all, as she bit down a shiver, she knew that it was possible that at any time, they could suddenly spot a sign for a town or even just a side road leading up to somebody's farm.

Or a hunting cabin.

Really, just because they were in the back woods, it didn't mean that there was nobody out there. After all, SOMEBODY paved this road they were driving on! And also, in America in the twenty-first century, provided you stayed on a paved road . . . which they were . . . it was actually VERY hard, to get lost and STAY lost, for any true length of time. Right now they were definitely lost, but that was because of the weather.

It was just the snow screwing them up.

But most storms blew out within a day. So the snow should end by tonight, if not then definitely by sometime tomorrow morning. Yeah . . . she nodded to herself as Hotch flipped off the dome light . . . even if they did get stranded for a bit, by morning, they'd be able to get their bearings no problem.

She was sure of it.

And she was about to share her 'Susie Sunshine' thoughts on this matter with the rest of the team . . . everyone could use a bit of cheering up, especially Hotch, the least 'sunshiny' of them all . . . when suddenly she saw a flash of light in the rearview mirror. It was coming up fast. So fast in fact, it took her a second to process what the light meant. But then her brain caught up, and her eyes popped in astonishment.

Headlights.

Holy crap! Those were freaking headlights!

That was _civilization_ back there!

And she was definitely not the only one seeing them. Because suddenly everyone was talking at once and, aside from Hotch, shifting around, trying to see who was behind them. Maybe if they were INCREDIBLY lucky, it would be a State Trooper or some other law enforcement.

And she was just about to say something to Hotch about possibly pulling over, when she realized that the headlights that had appeared perhaps five seconds earlier, were getting brighter and brighter in the rearview mirror. That vehicle . . . whatever it was, she still couldn't see . . . was going ENTIRELY too fast!

OH SHIT!

They were about to have a major collision!

Just as she was yelling out, "HOTCH, BREAK LEFT!" he was simultaneously yelling for everyone to, "HOLD ON!"

Apparently they'd seen the same thing at the same time.

All she had time to do was grab the overhead strap before Hotch took a sharp swerve to the left. He was trying to get them out of the way, but it was only a four lane road . . . two running in each direction. And they were surrounded by the forest.

They wasn't much maneuverability.

Still though Hotch was about the best offensive (and defensive) driver, Emily had ever known. And she could feel him tapping the brakes, trying to keep control of the vehicle even as they moved from the center, towards the shoulder. The shoulder itself was almost non-existent, but there was at least some place to go.

And it looked like they were about to going to make it . . . he was slowing them down, pulling off the far lane . . . when suddenly something happened. Emily couldn't quite figure out what it was. It was like they were . . . shoved.

If that was even possible.

She wouldn't have thought that it was. But whatever happened, suddenly they were shooting back across three lanes of slippery . . . snow covered . . . road. From his cursing, it was clear that Hotch couldn't get control. Then Emily's heart shot up into her throat.

Because were spinning.

Around . . . and around.

And around.

JJ screamed. So did Reid.

She might have too. It was hard to say, it was all happening so fast. But then those lights that had been coming up behind them . . . they were right out her side window. It was a big black car.

And they were about to get T-boned.

"CAR!" She screeched just before impact.

And then there was the smashing of steel against steel . . . and they were spinning even faster. She was knocked into Reid, smacking her head against his . . . though by some miracle she wasn't crushed by the car. The impact must have been just behind her.

JJ!

The thought flew into Emily's brain . . . that's where JJ was sitting . . . but she had no time to catch it. Because things were still moving too fast. They'd finally spun off the road. And now once again her window was filling with a new picture. This time it was trees.

Nothing but trees.

Oh Jesus!

She threw her arms over her face a split second before the glass exploded into it. Along with it came sharp branches, and snow covered pine needles.

They'd finally stopped moving.

And the wind that had been blowing outside, was now blowing inside too. She could also hear someone screaming.

It sounded like they were in agony.

And with her whole side aching, and her head pounding, she tentatively dropped her arms down.

Still though, all around her, everything was still spinning . . . though really she knew they were standing still. She blinked, trying to focus and clear her brain. Because she could still hear the screaming, And someone else was sobbing.

And she needed to help them.

Then she heard Hotch calling her name. He was telling her to undo her belt. To hurry.

To hurry up and come help him.

She blinked again even as her gloved hands fumbled for the silver latch at her waist. Because head spinning or not, she was ingrained to follow orders.

Especially his.

As the belt snapped back, a blast of frigid wind and snow hit her face . . . and with it came some clarity. It was the equivalent of someone throwing a cup of water in her face.

That time when she looked up, she could see Hotch was already out of his belt and up on his knees in his seat.

He was leaning over the console, one hand on Morgan's arm. The other on his knee. He was murmuring softly to him, telling him it would be okay. It was then that Emily realized . . . that's where the screaming was coming from.

Derek.

Tentatively, and with a growing sense of horror and dread rising, she pushed herself up and leaned forward. She looked over into the front seat.

What she saw almost made her throw up.

The branch that had crashed through the glass, breaking the window, it had also crashed into Morgan. It had gone right through his left eye.

And that's why he couldn't stop screaming.

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><p><em>AN 2: Aaaah Morgan! And gross! Eyeballs! But I told you going in, made no promises about health and safety :) And what would be the point of going into the supernatural realm, if we didn't hit the ground running?!_

_So why is there a new story? Short answer, I have some occasional "anger issues" :) And I've found that writing horror stories is a WONDERFUL way to vent out the darkness that occasionally boils up. Truly, if you can, it's highly recommended. That's how we've gotten all of the ugly stories I've written to date . . . my messed up brain needed an outlet. And I've had no outlet for this stuff for a while, so I just started scribbling one day when I needed to work in a darker palette, then the world started to form in my head, and here we are. Also though, I am down to final draft, on the conclusion of Gingerbread. I was working on it all through December. So now with it SO close to done, I felt okay letting this one move out of the gate. I know I have a lot of stuff going, but believe it or not, I do try to keep some balance to how many are open at once. Otherwise at any time, I could easily start posting another half dozen ongoing stories ;)_

_To this story, for their supplies, it is important to know what exactly they have at their disposal while entering this environment. And I was going to just do a quick narrative on that, but then I was thinking about what each of them would actually bring, and how that played into the characterizations themselves, so I thought it would be good to bullet it out. Derek with his muscle man stuff, Reid with a ridiculous sweet tooth. Pregnant JJ with her healthy snacks and her first trimester morning sickness crackers and ginger ale. I thought it added in extra layers to them as people, so I left in the nitty gritty._

_And I was going to send them to Derry for the missing kids, because, duh. But, it was in the wrong part of the state. I actually found Stephen King's 'map of Maine' on his website, and it shows Derry down by Bangor and it would have been VERY hard to get turned around and end up in Salem's Lot, which it shows as being much further north. Again, by his map. And they're his towns, so :)_

_I know we just have the one chapter, but I am excited about this one! This world is already so vivid in mind and the scenes are all coming to me like a movie that started playing. It reminds me of the spark I had when I started Snake Pit. I don't know how quickly this will roll along, but I'll do my best. You know sometimes new stories take over for a while, so we'll all see together how the muse plays out :)_


	2. Over The Hills And Far Away

**Author's Note**: Welcome back, my scattering of readers that are sticking with me on this one! Though it does seem to be more popular than Pound of Flesh, the read count for chapter one still really isn't up there with my average :) But of course, vampires are not for everyone! And that's cool too, so we'll just keep trucking along in our private little club :)

So direct continuation.

And side note, once again the CM Profiler Awards are running (cute how they actually coincide with the big award season now :)) and thank you to everyone who nominated me for anything! You folks are very nice to me every year, and even if I don't take home any 'prizes' this year, that's okay, because it really is just sweet that my readers have been nominating me regularly since I started posting my little diversions here. I am an erratic poster, stories will sit for months(years) on end with no updates, and I know that I am not always successful in responding to reviews and PMs in a timely fashion (or ever), but STLL, you're nice to me! :) And I thank you for that, truly. Because it would be awesome if I could get paid for this work (and it is work, it takes time to pull rough drafts to polished chapters), but obviously only P.D, James gets paid for writing fanfiction by pretending that it's not. _Insert sarcastic eye roll._ So people enjoying my writing, and letting me know that they enjoy it by these nomination, is a wonderful part of the process for us FF writers of all fandoms. You don't do it for 'praise' of course, you do it because the words get stuck in your head, and you have to get them out, and eventually, if you're lucky, you grow to love just the writing process. I was lucky enough to get that bug and I do love the process of pulling a story together. So I'd still be posting my nonsense even if nobody was reading it, but it does make me happy to know that you are reading it, and you're happy with it too :)

So, for the pimping portion of the process, apparently the ballot will open sometime today, the 17th with this link (no spaces) www . fanfiction forum / Profilers – Choice – Awards – 2014 / 162134 /

These are my nominations if anyone is interested in voting for me. And Girl (though I finished it like 4 years ago) is clearly the gift that keeps on giving, to me :) Thanks!

-Best Overall Author  
>-Best Het Romance: The Courtship of Clark and Lois<br>-Most Beloved Fic: Falling in Love with A Girl

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><p><span><strong>Over The Hills And Far Away<strong>

"Oh sweet Jesus," Emily whimpered to Hotch as she heard the screams, and looked at the gore running down Derek's face, "what . . .?"

It wasn't even possible to get the question out, before Hotch gently interrupted.

"I know Prentiss," he murmured back anxiously while shooting her a look, "I _know_. But we have to deal with it. Just," he jerked his head towards the back, "get the uh, the kit. That first aid kit that JJ mentioned. Get that, and the gloves and some blankets to warm him, and we'll just," he swallowed as his gaze snapped back to Morgan's face . . . "deal with it."

Hotch's voice faded on the last few words. Because really, how the FUCK they were going to _deal_ with it, he didn't know! Clearly none of their first aid training covered removing a TREE from an OCULAR cavity!

And _that_ was the horrifying task in front of them!

"Right," Emily swallowed and blinked, trying to will away the moisture forming in her eyes, "right, the kit."

She turned then, stumbling past Reid who was looking dazed still strapped in and rubbing the side of his head. And as Hotch snapped on the dome lights, she was trying to climb over to get into the way back of the SUV. But that's when she saw the impact that the other car had made. It had crushed in the back passenger side almost a foot. There was no longer any path on the side to get around the seats.

And she couldn't see JJ anywhere.

"JAYJE!" She yelled while scrambling up onto her seat to peer down, "JAYJE! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Just then she spotted JJ lying crumpled on the floor of the cabin, which was right when she heard Hotch from the front seat.

"Where is she?! Is she all right?!"

"Um," Emily murmured nervously while twisting to climb over the seat back, "I don't know. I can see her on the floor, but she's not answering me."

But once she was jammed into the crunched up back row with her friend, Emily reached down, running both her eyes and her hands along JJ's body, looking for blood, and feeling for trauma. Fortunately she couldn't find anything.

At least nothing obvious.

"JJ," she pleaded as she slipped her hands under her back, now feeling for wet spots, "please answer me! Are you okay!?"

There was still no response, but Emily was at least comforted by the thumping she could feel from her friend's heart. Even through her jacket it was a steady thump.

As was the pulse she found in JJ's throat.

"She's alive!" She called over to Hotch, "but I don't know what's wrong with her! I mean," her gaze bounced from one end of JJ's body to the other, "she wasn't belted in, so she might have hit her head I guess, but I don't see any blood!"

"All right!" Hotch yelled back while scrubbing his hand across his forehead, trying to make himself heard over the sound of Morgan's continuing screams, "we'll assume she just got knocked out! But as long as she's breathing all right, and you don't see that she's bleeding, leave her for a minute and find the kit and the gloves! We'll take care of Morgan first!"

In response to that game plane, he heard Emily yell back a, "right," as she bounced up, twisting to reach into the way back, "the kit!"

Though Hotch hated to tell her to abandon JJ on the floor, they had to prioritize the wounded. And Morgan clearly had to take full priority at the moment. Once they had him stable, they'd get back to JJ. Hotch's gaze shifted.

And Reid.

Though he was at least conscious, he didn't look good. And as evidenced when Hotch leaned over and snapped his fingers in Spencer's face, it took him at least a second to look up.

And his eyes weren't focused.

God damn it . . . Hotch's teeth ground together . . . five of them in the SUV, three of them with a likely head injury, one CRITICALLY injured, and they were lost out in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, during a snowstorm.

_Could it GET any worse?!_

"How's it GOING back there Prentiss?!" He yelled back tightly, trying not to sound like an asshole. But seconds were being lost that they did NOT have to lose!

"I'm looking," came back the muffled response, "I found the blankets, but the accident made a mess of everything here! Oh, wait!" She popped up, yelling over her shoulder.

"GOT 'EM!"

In one hand he saw that she now had the med kit, and in the other, the box of gloves.

Two blankets were hanging off her shoulder.

"Great," he twisted around, "throw the kit and the gloves!"

Emily leaned forward so she could toss the two boxes to Hotch, with the best aim she could.

He caught them both with one hand.

And even as she saw him tearing the cellophane off the med kit, she was hurriedly pulling herself back over the seats, trying to keep from dropping the blankets as she moved from one row to the next.

It was just then that everything went quiet. All except for the wind that is. That had been, and still was, a recurrent, sharp whistle, blowing in since the passenger window broke. But realizing what it meant that the wind was the only sound left, Emily's head snapped up.

Morgan had stopped screaming.

"Hotch?!" She called out, half in a panic while stumbling forward the last step, "is he . . ."

"Yeah," Hotch gave a sharp nod as his hand fell off Morgan's carotid, "he's still alive. He just passed out. Just as well," he continued with a murmur while going back to digging in the kit, "he doesn't need to be awake for this."

It was astounding that he hadn't passed out when the branch had first gone in. Christ . . . Hotch winced as he looked over him . . . he couldn't even imagine the level of agony he must have been in to lose consciousness.

It really was a testament to his strength that he'd even stayed awake as long as he had.

"How do you want to do it?" Emily asked quietly, trying to keep her voice hard and detached though she was feeling anything but. Because in her mind, she was running through the next ten moments of her life, and she knew only one thing could be true of them.

They were going to be absolutely horrible.

And she could see from the tightness around Hotch's mouth, that he knew that too. Because he gestured for her to come closer, and when she had moved right up next to the console, he leaned over just in case Morgan could still hear anything.

"We're going to have to go outside," he whispered in her ear, "it's the only way we'll have the right angle to do it fast. I'll," he swallowed, "I'll pull it out, but that means," he shook his head, "and I'm so sorry about this Prentiss, but you're going to have to be ready to do whatever needs to be done next."

Feeling her stomach flip at the implications there, Emily bit down, hard, on her lip . . . shit. Though she'd figured that the cleanup would be her part of the process, it didn't make it any easier hearing it out loud. But she knew it had to be that way. That branch was thick, and probably heavy. So obviously Hotch would be able to get it yanked out faster than she would.

"We are doing it fast, right?" she murmured back to him, while pushing down a chill from the bitter wind blowing in from the broken side window. And he nodded.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I know that's not ideal for the wound itself, but under the circumstances we just need to get it done."

It wasn't like they had paramedics on standby waiting to WHISK Derek off to an ophthalmological trauma unit that might be able to pull everything back together again. Whether they moved fast or slow, he was losing the eye either way. Hotch swallowed.

No doubt about it.

"Okay, um," Emily ground her teeth together, "well there should be tape in the kit to hold the bandage in place. And I guess if I just get it all the pieces torn off first, it should work."

She took a breath, and leaned back slightly.

"You think we have everything we need?"

"Yeah," Hotch nodded as he pulled a pair of the rubber gloves out of the box, "and put these on before you do your part," he held a glove up in front of her, "put them over your winter gloves. They should stretch fine. But either way, you need to keep your other gloves on or you won't have the dexterity in your fingers to do anything."

It was so cold out, she'd be lucky if her hands didn't stiffen up even with the two layers. But fortunately, (if that was the word), it was so cold outside, that for their entire ride, it had been chilly in the SUV even with the heat on, so they both were still in their full winter gear. All Hotch had to do was yank his ski hat back on . . . which he quickly did . . . and he was ready to go.

And with Emily already bundled up, he hurriedly helped her finish getting the supplies she'd need from the kit. After they'd put together an oversized bandage with an extra thick gauze pad in the middle, she tore off a dozen small strips of tape, which he made sure were stuck loosely, to the glove box.

That way they'd be handy for Emily to grab them when she was bandaging Derek up.

Hotch's thoughts of the steps in their emergency triage, were interrupted by an unexpected question from an unexpected person.

"Can I help?"

It was Reid.

His voice was a bit tentative, and Hotch's head snapped up to look over into his youngest agent's, wide, frightened eyes. One pupil still looked a bit enlarged, probably a concussion there, but for the most part he seemed to be focused in his attention.

Though to Hotch, at that moment he'd never looked more like the kid that he was.

"Yeah Spencer," he answered softly, "if you're up to it," Hotch tipped his head towards Morgan, "you could come up here, and get him all covered up as soon as we're done. But also be ready to pass Emily the tape for the bandaging part. It'll go faster."

Though Hotch was saying, "pass Emily the tape" what he really meant was "be ready to hold Derek down" if he wakes up. But hopefully their friend would stay mercifully unconscious, so there was no need to scare the shit out of Reid unnecessarily.

Things were bad enough as it was.

"Okay," Reid nodded as he shifted forward on the bench seat, "okay, I can do that."

If they were doing all the hard stuff . . . and he could see from his angle behind Hotch's seat, just how bad Derek's injury was . . . the least he could do was help with the tape and the blankets.

So Hotch climbed over into the back, and Reid inched around him so he could climb around into the driver's seat. Of course it would have been easier for them to switch by getting out of the vehicle, but they were trying to conserve as much heat as they could, and there was no reason to be opening and closing the doors more than they had too.

It would make a wind tunnel.

But once everyone was in place, Reid with the folded blankets in his lap/bandage in hand, and Emily both winter and rubber gloved up, Hotch did reach out to grasp the back door handle behind the driver's seat.

"All right, Prentiss," he took a breath, "let me check out there first."

Hearing a faint, "okay," from her, he pushed the door open, and climbed out into the so not magical winter wonderland surrounding them. And though Hotch had thought he would be somewhat prepared for the change in temperature, by the wind blowing in through the broken window . . . he wasn't. Because stepping outside was like having tiny little razor blades whipped at his face.

'Bitterly cold,' didn't even begin to describe it.

Not to mention that his boots were buried in at least three inches of snow, which was covering either asphalt or grass, he really couldn't tell. He just knew that they were somewhere to the right of the actual far lane of the bi-way. And that car that had hit them . . . his hand fell to his holster and he squinted while turning to look back and forth in either direction . . . he couldn't see it anywhere. Granted, visibility was not that great, and there weren't any light poles lining the road . . . they just had the glow of the cabin lights and the headlights to see by . . . but still, big black car, wide, white road, it seemed that if the car _was_ still within the immediate vicinity, he'd be able to tell.

But he couldn't.

And it made him a little uneasy to not know where it had gone. Because who the hell rammed somebody off the side of the road during a snowstorm, and then just kept going? The driver should have stopped, or at least slowed down, to see if they were all right.

It was the only DECENT thing to do!

But whatever . . . his jaw clenched as he took a few steps forward . . . he knew better than to expect decency of his fellow travelers on the planet. But for some reason he just kept hoping, and of course they just kept letting him down.

Someday he'd learn his lesson.

But on this day, he tried to shake off his unease about the missing car and driver, because he knew that regardless of the outcome . . . the grievous injuries to poor Derek . . . that he had no real reason to believe that the jackass had meant them any _deliberate _harm. Hotch's jaw clenched.

Most likely he was just some idiot driving too fast for the road conditions.

Really . . . he turned his head to look around into the darkened woods behind him . . . what else could it be?

So with no car in sight, and no perceived, 'danger' in the woods immediately around them . . . with their luck a freaking grizzly bear could have been camped out on the side of the road . . . Hotch stepped back and gestured for Emily to come out and join him.

Seeing her face when she jumped down by his side, it was clear from the look of shock that she wasn't ready for the brutality of the wind either.

She smacked the backs of her gloved hands over her face.

"Holy shit!"

"Yeah," he took her arm, pulling her out of the way so he could slam the door shut, "I know. Just move fast."

So with Emily's teeth already chattering . . . he knew she was always cold anyway . . . they ran through the rapidly piling snow, and around the front of the SUV, to get over to Derek's door.

Getting around the front end of the vehicle was easy, actually getting to the passenger door itself, not so much.

Because the God damn tree (like the whole _fucking tree_) was right there, PRESSED against the front of the SUV! That was not something that had been apparent from their vantage point inside. And now that they were out, and Hotch saw just how thick the outer portion of the branch was that had crashed through the window, his teeth ground together.

"Shit," he pulled Emily closer, leaning down so she could hear him over the wind, "this isn't going to work. It's too thick. I can't break that."

His expertise was in Krav Maga, but they did NOT have a chop maneuver to break off what was essentially a six inch thick LOG!

He'd need a God damn chain saw!

But then he saw Emily's shaking hand pointing to the section closest to Morgan's face.

"Sure you can," her finger hovered over the mossy wood, "break it right there. It's only a couple inches thick. You can use your pocketknife to wear it down."

Though her idea was not a bad one, still Hotch blanched and turned away.

"No, I can't," he muttered back, "I can't do it there. There's no way to maneuver, I'll end up grinding the piece into his brain."

Seeing that Hotch, for one of the few times in their history, was having a moment of personal doubt in his abilities . . . it was almost unheard of . . . Emily's expression softened as she reached out to touch his cheek with the back of her glove. She turned his face back towards her.

When his gaze reluctantly down, she shook her head.

"You won't do that," she responded calmly, "because you'll be careful. I know you will be, because you're always careful. You can do this, and it'll be all right."

It actually wasn't going to be all right at all. But at this point, as far as additional injuries went, there really was LITTLE damage that Hotch could do to Morgan's eye, or eye socket, that hadn't already been done on impact. And she knew that when it came to the odds of accidentally grinding the branch into Derek's brain, that, again, it just wouldn't happen. Hotch wouldn't allow it to happen.

Even if he didn't know that, she did.

Feeling his teeth begin to chatter . . . the cold was finally starting to get to him too . . . Hotch looked down at Emily, at the faith he could see in her eyes. And she was never one to bullshit him. Which meant that if she believed that he could do this safely, then maybe he really could.

So he gave her a little nod and she shifted back, out of the way. Then he pulled out his pocketknife, and snapped it open. And with one deep breath, and one silent prayer, he climbed up on the running board, leaned through the window . . . and with one hand bracing his work . . . he _oh so carefully_, began to saw down on the branch.

And Emily was right, he didn't grind it in. He held it steady. And it only took a dozen slow saws of the blade, to cut through the wood. Fortunately it was a bit dry this late in the season. So now there was just the outer strand of bark holding the smaller end of the branch, onto the larger part of the tree.

He was about to try slicing it, when a pair of scissors suddenly appeared in front of him.

They were the ones from the kit.

"I think these will be steadier," Reid murmured from Morgan's other side.

And he was right. So Hotch snapped his knife closed, and jammed it into his pocket. Then he took the scissors instead.

It took just one final snip . . . and he was done.

But knowing that time was passing, without taking even another breath, he threw the scissors onto the dashboard, and tightened his fist around the remaining shard of wood sticking out of Morgan's face.

He yanked.

Out it came, with bloodied, viscous fluid dripping from the end.

And on the very end, came Morgan's mangled eye.

Though that had been expected, seeing it pop out, and then the mutilated, bloody, material dangling on his cheek, it was the closest Hotch had ever come to throwing up on the job. Because this wasn't a case, and it wasn't a stranger.

It was his friend.

And his own eyes burned seeing what had become of him. He could also hear Reid choking down a gag, and Emily's moan from his side. But there would be time for grief later.

Now there was still work to do.

So he dropped back, holding the bloodied stick behind him with one hand, and using the other to push Emily around him.

And though he knew how much she was hurting, there was no hesitation in her movements.

She immediately climbed up onto the running board, and leaned over.

Emily sucked in a breath, and went to a place far away in her mind. She was back on her first day at the BAU. Her first real day. The day she'd met the team.

The day she'd met Derek.

When she'd shaken his hand and he'd flashed just a hint of that Colgate grin. He was so handsome and so confident. And while she thought back on their early days, and the friendship he'd offered when nobody else did, in the now, with her cold, rubber gloves, and her mouth twisted in a tight grimace, she tucked the loose bits of goo back into the empty socket. It wasn't sanitary, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

So with her mind still far in the past, she snatched the bandage they'd prepared, from Reid's shaking hand.

And with the two of them working together, she got it positioned to hold everything in place. Then she quickly taped it down, using the bits that she and Hotch had ripped off a few minutes earlier. It was like wrapping a present, she thought, as the tears finally began to fill her eyes, that's what she was doing, just wrapping a present.

Like that Playboy calendar she'd given Derek as a joke for Christmas. _Something to keep you busy on Friday nights_, she'd written on the card.

They'd both laughed when he'd opened it.

But now she felt badly. Because she should have given him a real present.

A nice one.

Emily didn't even realize that the tears had started to spill over, until they began to freeze on her face. That was also when she realized that the job was done.

The cavity which once held Derek's eye, was covered over now.

Morgan himself was still passed out. Thank God for that small favor. And while she'd been working, Hotch had been able to break off the rest of the branch which had broken through the window.

He'd used his weight to snap it in half.

And when she turned to him, with her bloody gloves, and the tears frozen on her face, he stopped short.

"Oh Emily," he murmured, his face twisting in pain and sympathy, "I'm sorry."

Then he quickly snapped the dirty gloves from her hands, and threw them down into the snow.

A splatter of red in the sea of white.

After that, he tucked her under his arm, and as he hurried them around the vehicle again, with his free hand he was brushing the frozen tears from her cheek.

Once they'd reached the back door, he yanked it open and helped her inside.

He was only a half a step behind her . . . and then the door slammed shut.

When they dropped onto the backseat, they were both shaking from the cold, and the adrenaline. Still though, neither of them paused moving for more than a second. When Emily sniffled that she needed to check JJ, after a quick pat of support to her arm (all he could do to comfort her under the circumstances), Hotch turned to help her crawl over into the back row again.

Then he looked down at the two women, his brow wrinkled with concern as he rubbed his hands together, trying to get warm.

"How is she?" he murmured.

"Um," for a second Emily hesitated, "she's still out. But," she brushed JJ's hair back, "I can see a bump on her forehead now. It wasn't visible before."

Her still being unconscious was worrisome though. Because it had been a good seven or eight minutes since the accident.

JJ should have woken up by now.

But then Emily had an idea. With her right hand, she dragged her glove covered fingers along her jacket, scooping up the small bit of snow that had fallen onto her, but hadn't melted yet.

She brushed the residue along JJ's cheek.

Her hope was that the icy water would jar her awake, and she did actually see her head jerk slightly. But when Emily called her name, JJ didn't open her eyes.

So Emily looked up, and then reached out to do the same thing to Hotch's jacket that she'd just done to her own.

That time she let the water drip right down over JJ's eyes and forehead, again while saying her name. Though this time more loudly. And once more she seemed to be reacting to the cold water, but she just didn't appear to be fully waking up. And Emily was just about to ask Hotch if he could get her a handful of snow from outside, when she saw a glorious sight.

JJ's lashes began to flutter.

"Oh, Hotch," Emily whispered, just before her friend's eyes popped open.

She blinked, and then groaned.

"What happened?"

Feeling a flood of relief that JJ was once more conscious, and seemed to be in possession of her faculties, Hotch stepped into the conversation.

"We had an accident, and you've been out for a few minutes." He bit his lip, "how do you feel?"

Her color was a bit pasty, but that could just be the cold settling into the cabin.

They needed to cover that God damn hole.

"Um," JJ blinked again, "okay, I think. My head hurts a bit, but not too bad." The she tried to push herself up from where she was wedged down on the floor . . . Hotch and Emily both immediately reached for her.

And as they helped her up onto the back row of seats, she bit down on her lip.

"I'm also a little bit nauseous," she added with a faint, worried murmur. And when Emily started to point out that was probably just from the knock on the head, JJ shook her head. Then she looked up at Hotch. Because he was the one that she needed to tell first.

He needed to know.

"I'm pregnant."

And she could see his eyes widen in surprise . . . clearly this was not news he was expecting today. Yeah, well, join the club Hotch. Because this was not news that she'd been expecting to have to SHARE today! It had been her plan to keep the pregnancy to herself for a few more months. She chewed her lip nervously as her hand lightly pressed against her stomach.

But things change.

"Uh . . ."

For a second Hotch stammered for a response. But then his wide eyes dropped down from JJ's worried ones, to her hidden waist beneath her coat.

"How far along?" He whispered.

"Six weeks," came the quiet response.

Quiet because she was worried not only about the baby . . . the nausea might not be from the head injury . . . but Hotch's reaction to this news. That he might be disappointed in her for an unplanned pregnancy when she wasn't even in a settled relationship. And though she knew that it was stupid to be worried about such a thing right now, she couldn't help it.

His good opinion meant the world to her.

But then she saw his expression soften, and when he looked back at her he reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

"Do you have any pain in your abdomen?"

The tone of the question was one of concern, not of irritation, or condemnation. That made her feel a little better, if not in terms of her condition, at least in terms of his reaction . . . that he wasn't upset.

She shook her head.

"I don't think so," she bit her lip as she gently patted her stomach, "but like I said, I do feel a little bit sick, and it's about ten hours too late for morning sickness."

"All right, um," Hotch's attention snapped over to Emily . . . she was just staring at JJ in shock, "Prentiss."

Her eyes darted over to his and he continued.

"Check under her clothes, front and back, make sure there's no visible bruising around her torso or upper pelvis. If there isn't," his eyes snapped back to JJ's, "and you don't develop any other symptoms that could be related to a problem with the baby, then we'll assume the nausea is just from bumping your head," then he gave her a look, "but you tell us _immediately_ if you start to feel any worse, okay?"

Though he didn't know what they'd be able to do for her if she started to miscarry besides just have her lie down, at least if they could _rule_ _out _a likely problem with the pregnancy, that would be one LESS concern weighing down on him at the moment. It was shock enough finding out that she was pregnant when he didn't even realize she was dating anyone.

And he didn't know how he'd live with her losing the baby on his watch.

Feeling her eyes start to sting, JJ gave a sharp nod back.

"Okay."

And she started to unzip her parka as Hotch turned away, moving towards the front of the cab to speak to Reid. And so with Emily's help, she quickly loosened her layers, and undid her belt and pants. Then she turned, putting her back to Emily as she lifted her jacket and sweater.

Then she felt her friend tug the material a little higher before murmuring, "your back looks fine," and dropping her jacket and sweater. So JJ turned around, and as Emily repeated the same process of lifting up her clothes, their eyes met.

For a second they just stared at each other . . . then Emily looked down. Her expression immediately tightened just before she pulled slightly on JJ's pants.

"Turn a little to the right and push your underwear down a bit off your hip," she whispered.

Feeling her tension levels rising . . . obviously she'd just seen something . . . JJ did as instructed, while still trying to hold up her coat and sweater. Then she felt Emily's gloved fingers brushing along her skin, pushing the material down a little more.

"There is a small bruise here on your hip," she continued softly, "but it doesn't seem to be anywhere near where the baby could have been bumped." Her gaze shifted down to the floor where JJ had been lying.

"There," her hand came off JJ's hip to point down to the box that was sticking out a bit from under the seat, "the rifle case. You probably fell on it, but," she looked back, up her expression softening when she saw the fear in JJ's eyes, "it's a very localized mark, and it's right on the hip bone, so I'd be surprised if it hit any soft tissue. And you also only fell down a foot, so the impact wouldn't have been more than a mild bump too."

Though Emily was of course immensely thankful that it was unlikely JJ's baby was in distress, for some reason she couldn't voice the "congratulations" that she knew was expected her to say at the moment of such news being shared. Perhaps it was just the timing of the announcement holding her back. She'd just cleaned up shredded eye gore, off Derek's cheek.

She wasn't ready yet for happy news.

Still though, she didn't want JJ to worry, so she tried to muster up a faint smile, though it probably came off more like a grimace, as she squeezed her arm.

"I think you're okay."

Then she turned, reaching to pull herself over the seat.

Hotch tugged her down next to him before he went back to doing what he'd just started doing.

Digging through the med kit.

Given that it was brand new, and the 'fanciest' kind they made, there was a lot of crap in it. But after another second, he pulled out four small packets of aspirin.

Emily immediately shook her head.

"No aspirin for JJ," she murmured, "it'll thin her blood."

For a moment Hotch stared at her in confusion, but before she had to explain the concern to him . . . if JJ did miscarry, they sure as hell didn't want her on blood thinners while she was bleeding out . . . Emily saw comprehension flash in his eyes.

"Right," he started digging again, "okay." Then he pulled out another packet.

"Tylenol okay?

"Yep," Emily took it from his hands, "that's fine." She turned, passing it over her shoulder.

"For you," she said as JJ took the little packet from her hands, "and you should probably take something with it too, so it doesn't bother your stomach anymore than it's already bothered."

"Actually," Hotch cut in, "everybody should eat something with the pills. Even if you're not hungry. Um," he turned, seeing JJ fixing the last of the buttons on her coat, "can you grab my bag and drop it on your seat, or is it not right there on top?"

Under the circumstances, in that they didn't know what was going on in JJ's abdominal cavity, he didn't want her doing anything too strenuous. But his bag wasn't that heavy to drag down next to her.

But then he felt Emily touch his arm.

"Actually," she turned and started climbing over the seat, "l'll go. Because I just thought of a solution to the window problem. We can use those extra vests. They should block the hole pretty well."

Also, they should pull their regular vests on now anyway. It was another layer of warmth.

And they needed every bit of warmth that they could get.

Hotch's brow wrinkled as he looked up towards the front of the cab.

"It's a good idea," he agreed, "but how are we going to keep them in place?"

"Flex cuffs," Reid cut in from the front where he'd been fixing Derek's blankets, then he leaned around the seat, "we can loop a couple together, hang them around the sun visor and the oh shit handles," he nodded to himself, "it should work."

Feeling an actual, moment of relief from the overwhelming stress pressing down on him. . . a truly workable solution to a major problem . . . Hotch nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, you're right, that should work just fine." So he turned.

"Emily . . ."

But she cut him off.

"Yeah, I heard. I'll pull out everything we'll need."

So Hotch turned back, muttering, "great. But," his gaze shifted over to the passenger seat, "we also need to move Morgan to the back too."

Even if/when, he woke up, his injuries were obviously much too grievous to allow him to assist in getting them out of this mess. So better to get him strapped down in the way back, where JJ was now, and then they could get moving on, well, getting moving.

The lights in the cab were still working, so he knew the battery was fine, but they'd stalled out when they'd broadsided the stand of trees.

And though it was killing him not to know if they'd be able to drive again yet, he didn't want to even try the engine again until everything else was lined up.

For one thing they'd be wasting their limited gas, but more importantly, when he was outside, he'd seen that, their tail pipe was pressed against a large pine tree. And he really didn't wish to take out his entire team with a slight carbon monoxide, "oops." He scowled slightly.

Spinning them off the road and blinding Morgan for life was his one great fuck up for the day.

And in the hopes of more quickly unfucking the major fuckery they were now in, he got up on his knees, before leaning over to scoop JJ off the back seat.

"Whoa," was her only response as she ducked to avoid bumping her head, and he twisted to gently put her down next to him on the bench.

"I don't want you moving around anymore than you have to," he shared by way of explanation. Then he gestured to Reid.

"Unhook Morgan's seatbelt, and be careful it doesn't snap back on him."

While Reid was VERY carefully getting Morgan untangled from his belt, Hotch climbed over into the back where Emily was digging around in his duffle bag.

"Bottle of water, and bag of nuts," she muttered, "that's what I'm looking for, right?"

"Yeah," he tapped the side of the bag, "they should be in that corner," then he kept moving passed her to reach into the truck area. After digging for a second, he found the stack of vests buried under the spare tire.

He pulled the whole lot of them over onto the seat. And he was about to start looking for the flex cuffs when Emily tapped his thigh.

"Box is on the floor by your feet."

So he leaned down and picked them up.

"All right," he continued softly, "so what else do we need back here? Because once we move Morgan, it's obviously going to be harder to get in the way back."

They'd be climbing on top of him, which was obviously not a good plan.

And he could see Emily biting her lip as she thought about the question. Finally she tipped her head.

"The flashlights obviously, and I think we should shift all of the duffles to the front so we can pull out more layers as needed. Even with the window blocked, there's obviously going to be a major draft blowing in over there. But the bags should mostly fit under the seats. Speaking of the seats," she lightly tapped the rifle case, "we should get the shells for these too." She looked up at Hotch.

"We still don't know who the hell hit us. Or if they'll come back."

For a second Hotch just stared at her, then his jaw clenched.

"I hadn't thought about them coming back," he shook his head, "and I don't know why."

For whatever reason the thought hadn't occurred to him, and that in and of itself was stupid and short-sighted. He felt a wave of shame wash over him. Because if he didn't start getting a better handle on this situation, he was going to get them all killed.

That thought was the cold truth of the matter, so when he felt Emily touching his leg, it was with reluctance that his gaze shifted over to hers.

When he did, her expression softened and leaned closer.

"Stop feeling guilty," she whispered, hoping the others wouldn't hear them talking, "you don't have to think of everything, nobody expects that from you, except you. And we're going to get out of this, but we're going to do it together. You can't do it by yourself. Teamwork helps us build every profile, gets us through every case, and this situation is no different." Suddenly flashing on Morgan's mangled face, she sucked in a ragged breath. "It's just a little more personal."

Good Christ was it personal. Her eyes started to burn . . . poor Derek. One random missing persons case out of the hundreds he'd worked, and he ends up losing his eye in the most horrific way she could imagine. And the real irony was, even though they lived dangerous lives, with dangerous jobs, he wasn't even _doing _anything DANGEROUS when it had happened! He just happened to be the one sitting in that seat, on this trip.

It could have been any one of them.

Which was why she didn't want Hotch getting sucked down into the guilt that she knew he was feeling. It was a constant with him, the worrying about their safety. Worrying he would let them down. But none of this was his fault.

It just was.

And as she looked over at him, looking over at her, she could see him biting his lip. Then the hand that she had pressed down on his leg, was being picked up and cradled in his two larger ones. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her ear.

"I'm really glad you're here," he murmured, "you help me keep my head on straight."

They'd had two plus, _hard_, years of professional bonding, and then six weeks ago some things had happened over the holidays that had jumped them ahead leaps and bounds in the area of personal bonding. And then after what had happened in that bar in Stafford, he couldn't deny that his level of trust in Emily, not just as a colleague, but as a confidante, had completely solidified. So if they were going to get out of this, then he was going to need to keep her as his right hand. A part Dave would have filled if he was there.

But he wasn't.

And he could tell from the way Emily sucked in a breath, and squeezed his fingers, that his words had touched her. And he was just about to ask (quietly) if she had any thoughts on what else he should do for JJ, when suddenly he heard a noise. It was muffled, and somewhat distant, but still . . . it seemed familiar. And he could tell from the way Emily's nails dug into his palm . . . through both layers of their leather gloves . . . that she'd heard it too.

His eyes shot up to hers, as they heard Reid calling down worriedly from the front, "what is that? Did you guys hear that?" And then JJ, "hell yes, I heard that."

She turned back to look at Hotch and Emily in the next row, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of them.

"Was that an animal?!"

Before Hotch could answer, the sound came again. That time they all scrambled to pull their weapons. Because that time there was no doubt what it was. It wasn't an animal. It was a person.

And that person was screaming.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Yes, it was awful to pop out Derek's eye, BUT, you didn't really think he was going to be able to use it again after a tree went through it, right? No. And like Hotch said, no trauma team on standby to even try. So Derek is down, and JJ's pregnancy, I felt in her position, it would not be in my best interest to keep that a secret from them any longer. It would have actually just been kind of dumb. So one more element in play for the story, as is Reid's concussion. It is a long 'live' chapter, but I needed that for some relationship building 'betwixt' most of the major players. Because things will get busier next time around, so you have to fit that layering stuff, in where you can :)_

_Off topic, you know I've been posting like every week for over a month, and I still never feel like I'm getting ahead. I guess on the plus side, my chapters HAVE been longer (this could have been broken into 2 postings), so maybe I am getting ahead with the storylines, it just always feels like there are still a million miles to go._

_Thanks everyone!_


	3. Command Decisions

**Author's Note**: Hi all! Thanks for coming back :) And thanks to anybody who voted for me, Girl (which is the base here too) won "Most Beloved Fic!" Yay! :)

And to this, direct continuation.

* * *

><p><strong>Prompt Set #29 (April 2011)<strong>

Show: Dr. Kildare

Challenge: Soloman's Choice

* * *

><p><span><strong>Command Decisions<strong>

"Reid! Lights!" Hotch hissed. And Spencer immediately reached up to snap off the three dome lights currently burning.

At the same time, Emily had dropped her gun on the seat and was turning to scramble over and get the Mag lights out from where she'd seen them jammed under JJ's ready bag. She was pulling the first one out, when her hand bumped into a sharp edge. That's when she remembered the list of supplies that JJ had read off.

Night vision goggles.

They had to be.

So she snatched them up, dropping them over into Hotch's lap before she went back in for the flashlights again.

Beside her she could hear Hotch tossing the Kevlar over to the others, while whispering for JJ to recline Morgan's seat and for Reid to place one of the vests over his chest.

Good . . . she thought frantically . . . because it wasn't at all safe for Derek so exposed up there. He couldn't even _duck_, let alone protect himself!

And when she turned back to shove the other two flashlights into Hotch's lap, she was pleased to see the shadow of JJ already on her knees trying to get Morgan's seat latch. Behind her was Reid, slunk down in the front seat shimmying into his vest.

So Emily quickly reached back to grab flashlights for the two of them.

While she was digging them out, she heard Hotch climbing off their bench seat, and over into the second row. Two seconds later when she turned around with the last flashlight, it was clear even in shadows, that Morgan was now lying almost horizontally and Reid was dropping a vest over him. And with Derek now taken care of (at least as best as they could do for him at the moment) Hotch passed a Mag light to JJ. She quickly handed it off to Reid, who went back to fixing the straps on his vest.

JJ started pulling hers on.

And the background to all of this "routine," "gear up," activity, was the continued, and blood_curdling_, SCREAMING coming from the woods! A sound which was, not to put too fine a point on it, FREAKING Emily the fuck out! Because even though her team was moving quickly, and professionally, as they always did, still, she knew at the moment, they were WHOLLY unprepared to deal with an outside threat!

Then suddenly, just as she reached for her own vest, Emily froze. And she saw that the others stopped moving at the same moment that she did. Because now there was a new sound outside their windows.

And that sound was Silence. The screaming had stopped.

Mid-curdle, one might say.

Though Emily really didn't want to say it. Because that sound, the screaming getting choked off with a gurgle, she'd heard it before. And usually right before they found a bloodbath. And that again, fell onto the list of the things her team was _wholly_ unprepared to deal with at the moment. She slowly exhaled.

Shit.

"Hotch," she rasped out while slipping her own sheet of Kevlar around her body, "are we going out there?"

Though she already knew the answer, she still needed to ask the question. But of course in situations like this, the question was always the same. Were they going to chase the devil, or would they let him go for another day? This was the morality of their work.

And it was a bitch.

Feeling not for the first time, the tremendous stress of command and these horrible decisions that he was often forced to make, Hotch bit down hard on his lower lip.

"We have to go," he murmured back. Then his head swiveled as his eyes tried to see through the tinted glass and out into the darkness, "I'm just not sure which way."

Though it seemed like an absolutely, unequivocally, TERRIBLE idea to split up, let alone go outside, there was no way that they could ignore screaming in the woods. Screaming in the woods, that was their business.

That was their job.

It meant that someone was being hunted by an animal of either the two, or four legged, variety. Granted the two legged variety was generally their specialty, but tonight, dear Christ was he hoping for the four! Because any predators out there in the dark that had just two legs, if they were hunting on a night like this, they probably would know these woods well. As opposed to him and his team.

They might as well have just been dropped on Mars.

"It was coming from there," JJ said softly while gesturing with her gun towards the right passenger side window, "I'm almost positive."

"I would have said it came from up ahead," Reid cut in, using the same quiet tone, trying to keep his words from carrying out the broken window, "but I wouldn't swear to it."

With two differing opinions . . . and him only maybe sixty percent sure that JJ was right and Reid was wrong . . . Hotch turned to look back at Emily. Even in the darkness, her outline was visible.

He could see that she was fixing her straps.

"Prentiss," he asked softy, "any input?"

"I couldn't say really," she whispered back while yanking her bottom strap tight, "I thought it was more to the right too, but Reid's closer to the open window so he might have a better read on where it was coming from than we do. _Although_," her actions slowed as a thought seemed to come to her, "maybe the person was running and the first scream was from up ahead, and _then_ they went into the woods."

Hotch nodded slowly.

"Yeah, that actually makes sense. So all right," seeing her vest was in place he reached over and grabbed her wrist, "come on." He started pulling her over the seat, "you and I are going out to look around." He shifted his voice towards the front, "and you other two, watch the woods. Especially the right, because the only exit we have is on the left."

Seeing Emily had dropped on the bench next to him, he let go of her arm to continue softly.

"Once we move around the vehicle, you two switch your attention to the opposite side. And if Prentiss and I don't find anything in five minutes, we're coming back in and getting the hell out of here. Because under the circumstances," he shook his head, "we're clearly _not_ equipped to run any kind of dedicated search or do any tracking." He sighed, "really, the best we can do is a scoop and run if we find somebody out there. That's it."

Though ordinarily he'd have all four of them going out, with both JJ and Reid physically compromised . . . their head injuries were not conducive to straight shooting or quick reflexes, and that wasn't even including JJ's potential for miscarriage as a twofer for her . . . it seemed much wiser for them to stay inside with Morgan, because bringing them out would be a distraction for him.

One likely to get somebody killed.

And hearing the murmurs of "got it," and "yes, sir," with that, Hotch picked up the flashlight and goggles that Emily had given to him. The goggles he dropped around his neck, and with one final prayer that he wasn't making a COLOSALLY bad command decision, he slid over and opened the back door.

Of course once more the broken window created a wind tunnel through the cab . . . a noisy one at that . . . so he tried to get outside as quickly as he could.

Though he was squinting in the wind and snow . . . he didn't want to try the goggles yet in case they obstructed his view . . . his eyes were still bouncing everywhere. And in one hand he had his gun, and the other the Mag light. The beam reflected well off the clean white snow.

It was brighter still when Emily popped out next to him.

Before either of them could move to get the door, JJ had pulled it closed. And fortunately she did it quietly, because he was worried about an echo in the forest. Of course it was possible that they'd already been noticed, but either way, they didn't need to make _obvious_ targets of themselves.

And after a couple of quick gestures to Emily which translated to, _'I'll cover left, you cover right, stay close_,' Hotch saw her arms coming up even as she tipped her head in acknowledgement.

Seeing that she was holding both her light and her gun out straight, he nodded to himself.

_Always know what your bullets are going to hit._

Though hopefully they wouldn't have to hit anything that night. But with them each now positioned correctly, Hotch took a few steps away from the vehicle. Then his eyes widened at what he saw across the road.

Something was moving in the trees. And that was on the _left_ side of the SUV. Not even close to where ANY of them had thought the screams were coming from.

_Great._

"Prentiss," he hissed with his eyes still locked on the figure, "nine o'clock."

Though he wasn't sure what the hell he was looking at, it seemed much too tall to be an animal. Maybe, he could allow for the size (well over six feet) of a bear on its hind legs, but he knew it wasn't a bear. For one thing a bear wouldn't be _hiding _on its hind legs. If it was up, then it would have been growling or moving.

And whatever this was . . . his heart started to pound . . . it was just standing still.

Then he felt Emily's arm brushing against his right before she whispered back, "what the hell is that?"

There was clearly tension in her voice.

But he just shook his head, still with his eyes locked on the figure.

"Don't know," he answered softly, "but keep watching the woods around him. He might not be alone."

Then he raised his voice.

"This is the FBI!" He called out loudly, projecting as much authority into his words that he could, under circumstances where he basically had none at all, "whoever is over in the trees, raise your arms above your head, and step out into the open!"

No reaction.

So he tried again . . . though this time with a lot more bite with the bark.

"Unless you want to be SHOT where you stand," he growled, "step out into the road! NOW!"

Though it wasn't ordinarily his approach to go clichéd, Old West, 'shoot first, ask questions later,' at the moment they really had no other negotiating tactics.

And fortunately the Old West approach did seem to make an impact, thank Christ. Because it was barely two beats after he'd finished speaking that he felt Emily poke his side with her elbow.

"He's moving," she murmured.

Then a second after that, the dark outline started to walk out from the trees. And that figure was most definitely, _not_ a bear. It was a man.

A very tall, very thin, very bald . . . man.

Even eyeballing him from across the four lanes of the roadway, in the glow of their flashlights, Hotch would still estimate he was close to seven feet. And so pale. Truly, his skin was a shade of white he had never seen before on a living human. Though the lack of color in his features was probably due to the fact that he had to have been FREEZING to death! Really, the man was dressed in just a white dress shirt, and a black suit. No hat, no overcoat, no gloves.

And if not for the prickles down his spine, and the pounding of his heart, Hotch might for a moment have considered that this man who was dressed so 'ill fittingly' for the extreme weather, could have been a kidnap victim. Perhaps one who had just escaped from his abductors.

Perhaps one who had just been screaming off in the woods.

But no, as Hotch slowly slipped the safety off his gun, he was quite sure that this man had been the screemee, not the screamer. And that was because this man had just smiled.

And his teeth were covered in blood.

"ON YOUR KNEES!" Hotch barked, "NOW!"

But the man didn't get down on his knees . . . he just kept walking towards them. He started from the tree line . . . then he reached the edge of the roadway . . . then the north bound high speed lane . . . one slow step at a time. All while both Hotch and Emily were screaming at him to stop and hit the ground. But he just kept smiling that insane smile. Then finally he got too close . . . he was about to reach the center yellow line . . . and Hotch fired.

Just once.

And though he could see from the jerking of the man's shoulder, that the bullet had hit its mark . . . the upper left quadrant . . . still he didn't stop walking. He didn't even stop _smiling_!

He just kept coming.

Realizing then, that they were in a HELL of a mess(!) . . . the guy had to have been on PCP or something . . . Hotch knew that they had to take him down. So he started shooting rapid fire.

As did Emily.

Their shots were going for center mass, and again, it was clear from the holes forming in the white shirt, and the way the man's body twitched and jerked with each hit, that the bullets had to be ENTERING his flesh, but he wasn't bleeding. And Hotch thought it nearly impossible that he was wearing a vest under his shirt. His frame was just too God damn thin!

He was like a walking skeleton.

Though after at least thirty bullets had been pumped into him, his steps were at last, FINALLY, beginning to slow down! But not like they should have been.

Because he should have been dead.

Flat out, fucking torn up carcass on the road . . . but he wasn't.

And with him still coming, now just one lane away, and the safety of his team his only thought at the moment, Hotch finally just took the head shot he'd been avoiding. And he took it with the last two bullets in his clip.

He shot them right into the middle of the forehead.

Even with the only illumination coming from their flashlights, he could see the splatter of brain and bone fly like a mist through the swirling flakes. And though he wasn't pleased at that image . . . he'd never been happy to have to kill anyone, even the monsters . . . he was at least relieved.

For a moment anyway.

But then, as he was quickly replacing his clip, he started to feel a tickle of confusion and unease, added into his general state of well, general upset. The confusion was coming in though, because as the body fell to the pavement, Hotch once again took note of the lack of blood coming from the wounds. Not just the ones in the chest now. But also, he'd literally just blown two holes through a human head, and there wasn't a speck of crimson marring that pristine white snow. There was definitely bone, and tissue . . . but no blood.

And that was not fucking possible.

Feeling his brain twisting as it searched for a scientific explanation for the unexplainable, Hotch was about to walk over and check the body more closely . . . he had to be missing something . . . when suddenly he heard another noise. It was a shriek. One of rage. Not from across the road, but from the woods behind them.

The place where all the screaming had originally come from.

Even as he spun around, Emily was doing the same.

"Round front," he muttered with an elbow bump to her side, and she immediately started hurrying around the SUV.

As they passed the front bumper, he smacked the hood to get Reid's attention. And when his youngest agent's wide eyes snapped over to his, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

The reminder . . . watch the other side of the road.

And he could tell from the quick jerk of his head, just before he twisted around, that Spencer remembered their orders.

Good.

Though when he turned back to continue after Emily, Hotch saw that she hadn't stopped when he had. She was already sinking into the snow as she stepped through drifts in front of the tree line.

Which meant that he was a good five steps behind her. And that was five steps too far.

Shit.

So he started hurrying after her, but the snow by the side of the road, it was too deep. It was sucking down on his boots.

He was falling further behind.

So he started to call out for her to stop and wait for him . . . but he hadn't gotten out more than the, "Pren . . ." when suddenly something hit her from the back.

She went flying through the air, disappearing into the blackness of the forest.

His eyes popped.

"PRENTISS!" He screamed, while scrambling to race through the deepening snow, "PRENTISS!"

Though he could hear her screeching and see her flashlight lying still in the snow, the sound of her voice and the location of the light, were not coming from the same location.

So he just ran towards the screeches . . . though they were getting further away.

She was being taken from him.

"EMILY!" he screamed as for the first time in his career, true panic began to consume him, "WHERE ARE YOU?!"

From behind him he could hear JJ and Reid yelling from the SUV, pleading with him to let them know what was happening. But before he could yell for them to stay where they were . . . he couldn't have them all scattered out in the forest, his entire team would be dead by morning . . . his light hit the marks in the snow.

Drag marks.

So he started running after them. The flashlight bouncing through the falling flakes, as the blood pounded in his ears. Though he'd allow it wasn't possible to run at his optimal speed at that moment . . . the tree cover was dense, and the snow covered ground slippery and uneven . . . he couldn't believe it was possible for her to be taken so far, so quickly. But she was completely gone from his sight. He'd even tried the goggles but there wasn't enough ambient light for them do anything.

So he shoved them into his pocket as he tried to push down the terror and panic washing over him. But that was nearly impossible to do. Because the minutes were ticking by as her cries faded further and further away from him. Still though, he wasn't letting her go.

Not a chance in hell.

So his boots were pounding down into the snow. And he knew from his lost breath, and the seconds he was counting away, that he had to have gone at least a quarter mile, zigzagging through the trees. And he was going fast, but he could hardly hear her anymore.

It was a few minutes later, after tripping over something under the snow, that he saw Emily's ski cap had gotten snarled up on a root sticking out of a drift. His stomach twisted.

It had to have come off when she was being dragged.

It was at that moment, when Hotch realized that he hadn't heard her cries for at least thirty seconds.

Maybe even longer.

And feeling a new wave of terror washing over him, that she might have been knocked out, or God help him . . . worse, he screamed for her again.

"PRENTISS! YOU HAVE TO KEEP YELLING!" he threw his arm up to knock a branch out of his way, "IT'S THE ONLY WAY I CAN FIND YOU!"

But there was no response. Either she was now too far away to even hear him, or she was no longer physically able to respond.

Either scenario made his blood run cold.

And he was about to scream her name again, because fuck if he couldn't just let her just DISAPPEAR into the God damn ether(!) . . . when he heard a shot far, far, off in the distance. And then there was another one . . . and another . . . and another.

A full clip was emptied.

It took almost a minute, but as he ran he'd been counting the shots. That was definitely fifteen. Emily's whole spare clip.

But he didn't know if she was the one who was firing.

And though his heart was now in his throat, and his lungs were screaming at the icy air he was forcing into them, somehow he found a new burst of strength.

Or maybe it was just the new surge of adrenaline.

Absolute terror will do something for a man. It can make him run faster. Slipping and sliding through the snow, racing to get to the sound of those gunshots. Trying to get to her.

Another thirty paces covered.

Another forty.

Fifty-five.

Eighty-seven.

It was literally all he could do to keep his sanity, count the steps, and scream her name. Over and over. Emily . . . Emily.

Emily.

But there was no response. And no more gunfire. Then as he hit the one hundred and tenth step, finally, up ahead, his light bounced off a figure on the ground. But it wasn't just one figure.

There were three.

It was hard to tell the way if they were men or women. But they were all wearing ski jackets, and all lying flat on their backs.

And they all appeared to have been had their throats ripped out.

There was blood, well, Christ, it was splattered everywhere. And it was all soul deadeningly fresh.

OH JESUS!

As he raced towards the bodies, he was pleading with a God that he'd long ago stopping praying to, that Emily wasn't in that pile of corpses.

"I'm over here."

The words came in a soft, raspy voice, but fortunately Hotch somehow still heard them. And he stopped short, spinning away from the bodies, to turn around in disbelief.

"Prentiss?" He cautiously, and quietly, called out into the trees, "is that you?"

"Yeah," she coughed, "it's me," she threw a stick at his feet, "to your right."

So he turned, rushing over as he waved his light further into the darkness surrounding him.

It took a second, but then finally, he found her crouched over, leaning against a tree. She was shaking as she sucked in what he could only describe as raggedy, panicked, breaths. He could also her gun was being held tight in one hand, and that her gloved fingers were just dangling into the snow, from the other arm.

And fortunately, with the exception of a reddish discoloration of her cheek . . . which was likely just ice burn caused by her skin scraping on the snow . . . she didn't appear to have suffered any other physical injuries during her abduction.

Thank God!

Though when she looked up at him, and their eyes locked, he could see that hers were wild . . . but of course his probably were as well. But that was because truly, those last fifteen minutes running through the forest, had been the worst of his life. Next to Reid's abduction, chasing her trail through the snow, was as terrified as he'd ever been.

On the job or off.

But now that he'd found her again, there was something that could be done about that terror. Something that Reid had once done for him.

And it was something that he could do for both himself and Emily now.

So when she started to slowly push herself to her feet, he reached out with his flashlight arm, to pull her up. Once she was standing, though still shaking, and he knew that wasn't just from the cold, he did something he never allowed himself to do.

Pull her into an embrace.

The hug was hard and tight, and as close as he'd held her that night in the bar. But it still wasn't close enough.

So he tipped his head down.

"I thought I'd lost you," he panted in her ear. And then he felt her nod slowly against his chest, "yeah," she chattered back as the gloved fingers of her free hand clenched in his jacket, "I thought I'd lost me too."

Then she tipped her head back, and once again her eyes were locked onto his. Even with the light bouncing up from the snow, he could see that they were less wild now, but no less terrified.

"There were two of them," she whispered frantically, "and I shot them both. And I think they're dead, but I don't know for sure, because they were just like that guy in the road. They weren't bleeding, and they just kept moving. So I just kept shooting them, and then I ran," her eyes started to water, "and I ran, and I would have kept going but I saw those bodies, and I had to stop," she bit down on her lip, "I had to check them," she cleared her throat, "but they were all dead. Then I heard you call my name. At least I thought it was you," she blinked as her eyes darted into the darkness around them, "but I wasn't sure until I saw you in the light, so I hid until then." Then she pulled her hand off his hip, and raised her gun up between them.

"Because I don't have any bullets left."

It was just a miracle she hadn't lost her gun when she'd lost her flashlight. Amazingly, they didn't even try to take it away from her. Almost like they weren't afraid of it. But then once they started dragging her, she just kept hold of it for dear life.

Literally.

"All right, here," Hotch held out the flashlight, "hold this." After she'd taken the light, still holding the beam straight to the ground as he had, he bent down and pulled his Glock out from his ankle holster.

As he was straightening up, Emily was shoving her Sig into her side holster. And after she took the revolver from his hand, she started to pass him back the light, but then he put his finger up.

"Wait."

Then he quickly shoved his sig into his pocket to free his hands, before reaching up to yank off his ski cap. He pulled it down over Emily's head.

As he was fixing it over her ears, he could tell from the look on her face . . . a mixture of gratitude and exasperation . . . that she was about to protest, he just shook his head.

"Not a point for discussion," he stated quietly while pulling his gun back out, "you've lost too much body heat already, and I don't know how long it's going to take us to get back to the SUV. Speaking of back though," he took the light from her hand, "where did you leave those men?"

She jerked her chin to the left.

"That way. Maybe a half mile. And they each have at least a half dozen rounds in them. But Hotch," she shook her head violently, "I don't want to go back there. I know that we should, but I can't. There's something wrong here, and I don't know what it is, but we need to go."

"No, no," Hotch's brow darkened slightly, "I wasn't going to suggest we go after them. We clearly don't have the weaponry, not to mention," he stomped his foot down in the snow, "this is just going to get deeper. And if we let it get too deep, it's going to cover over your drag marks and my footprints. And then we're never getting out of here. I just wanted to know which way we have to watch for a likely ambush. So," he tipped his head, "come on. And you stay RIGHT beside me, okay?"

"Yeah," she gave a sharp nod as they started walking, "not a problem. Because I don't know if I have the energy for another round of fight or flight. If they hadn't stopped for a second, and I still don't know why the hell they did because I was practically floating off the ground they were pulling me so fast, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to take the first shot." She bit down on her cheek, "I wish I'd been able to do that sooner, but when they first knocked me down, for a few seconds I was so stunned I couldn't even react."

"Yeah," he shook his head, "you'd completely disappeared almost a split second after I saw you get hit."

The speed that these men could move was truly, remarkable. Again, especially given the lack of winter gear!

How were they not just DYING of hypothermia?!

"It's weird isn't it?" Emily murmured.

"What?" Hotch's gaze briefly flicked down to her face as they hurried around a stand of pine trees, "what's weird?"

"The no blood thing," she answered softly, "and their clothes. Oh yeah," her voice started to get tight, "I forgot to tell you. The ones who grabbed me were dressed like the other guy. Dark suits. No coat, no gloves. And really, really tall and really, really pale. It's almost like . . ."

And then she trailed off, because suddenly, walking there out in the pitch black, and freezing cold, her stupid little supposition, didn't seem so stupid.

It just seemed like a really bad idea to say it out loud.

But then Hotch prompted her.

"What is it almost like?" He whispered, "What are you thinking?"

For a second though, still, she paused before responding. Because the idea was so ridiculous, that she didn't want Hotch to think she was literally, cracking up. But then she just thought, 'fuck it,' because as long as she was clear that she wasn't saying that's they _were_, that it was just what they _reminded_ her of, then he wouldn't think she was a nutjob.

So she finished her thought.

"They remind me of, well, vampires," she answered with a faint bit of hesitation. "You know, like the description in books. Unnaturally tall, pale skin, and the reason they don't bleed is because their hearts aren't beating. And then the way that they kill, ripping open the throats." She bit her lip, "given the blood we saw in the first guy's mouth, they're probably doing that with their teeth. You know . . . like a vampire would."

And it was seriously creeping her the fuck OUT! Although not quite so much as when she heard Hotch agreeing with her. Actually she was so shocked when he actually said, "they probably are vampires," that she stopped short in the middle of the woods.

"What?!" She hissed, "you _actually_ think they're REAL vampires!?"

Was he fucking kidding her with this shit? How was she EVER going to sleep again?!

But then she saw Hotch turn back to her, his eyebrow inching up in confusion.

"Of course I don't think they're real vampires." He responded slowly, "there's no such thing. I just meant that has to be their chosen mythology," he shook his head, "it's got to be a cult of some kind and the vampire is just the creature they're choosing to emulate while they hunt and kill."

"Oh," she let out a breath, "okay, that's better. Because if you, of _all_ people, was going to tell me that he believed in vampires then, well," she shook her head, "I'm all done here."

Seeing Hotch's mouth quiver ever so slightly, Emily impulsively reached out to pat his chest. Then she started walking again.

"I still don't understand the lack of blood though," she continued as he fell back in step beside her, "because I did actually check one of them before I ran and," she shook her head, "when I ripped open his shirt there was no vest. Just an unnaturally white chest with a bunch of really big holes in it." Her lips pursed, "it was like I'd shot a mannequin or something."

It was almost, in a way, MORE disconcerting than seeing a 'regular' dead body. Not that regular dead bodies weren't upsetting by themselves . . . even after all this time, they still made an impression . . . but seeing just a bullet hole with no blood, that somatic response to massive trauma was so strange and alien to everything she knew, that her brain couldn't process it.

She had no box for such a thing.

"It is very strange," Hotch waved the flashlight a little further ahead of them, "but I'm sure there's some physiological reasoning for it. Perhaps a clotting disease, or something along those lines. Whenever we get back to civilization, we'll have Garcia research it and we'll figure it out, but for now," he tipped his head, "let's just keep moving. I'm worried about Morgan. We have to get him to the hospital before he wakes up," then his voice faded slightly, "because I don't know what the hell we're going to tell him if we're still out here."

Christ, he didn't know what the hell he was going to tell him even if they _did_, by some fucking MIRACLE, get to the hospital before he woke up! Because it was still going to be his responsibility to handle the conversation. _After all_, he thought with a flip of his stomach, _he was the one that had ripped his eye out of his head._

So there was no way for that pronouncement to go well.

But then he felt Emily slip her arm through his. And when he turned his head slightly to look down at him, she leaned her head against his bicep.

The action caused a softening of his expression, and for the beam of light to jostle over the freshly falling snow.

"I'll be there when you tell him," Emily said with a husky whisper, "whether it;s out here in the middle of nowhere, or in some nice sterile hospital room. We'll do it together."

Though she knew that Hotch felt responsible for what had happened, he wasn't. And that conversation with Morgan was going to be hell, so she would never allow him to take such a burden on all alone. It was too much to ask of anyone to handle by himself.

Even Hotch.

And though she also knew, as well as she knew her own name, that Hotch wanted to tell her that she didn't have to be there, fortunately he seemed to know better than to argue that point. Instead he just took in a slow breath, and then she heard him breathe out one word.

"Thanks."

In response she just gave his arm a slight squeeze. And though Emily was aware that she could probably let him go about then, she was actually, truly, freezing to death. Her body was shaking and her teeth were chattering, and even with both boots and gloves, her fingers and toes were starting to get numb. And though the level of physical contact she currently had with Hotch, was just limited to her side pressed against his side, there was body warmth there. Enough to take a bit of the chill off . . . and every little bit helped.

So she stayed where she was.

Either way, Hotch didn't seem to mind. And yes, given that they were likely being hunted through the forest by some band of sociopathic fruitloops who worshiped at the altar of Anne Rice, it was a little strange to be clinging to his side like they were a couple of civilians or something. But well, fuck it. She was cold, and the hike was going to be a long one.

Probably close to another mile to go.

They were moving at a decent clip, but she'd been dragged pretty far in, and it was just too freaking cold to run flat out back to the road. Sucking snowflakes into your lungs, did not feel good. It actually hurt like a bitch. Yes, granted, the trees did provide some measure of protection from the worst of the wind gusts, but the wind was still blowing.

And that was also as cold as witch's teat, too.

So they trudged along step after step, half listening, and definitely fully watching, for the ambush that hadn't yet come. So maybe they really were dead. And maybe their whole little sick, fucked up vampire cult, only consisted of three assholes running around out in the snow.

And maybe Miss Piggy would go flying by in a few minutes.

But as long as the others, and yes, she was sure there were others . . . there was no way they'd have been out hunting in a storm like this all alone . . . didn't find their dead friends until after she and her team had reached something passing for authority out here, that would be freaking great.

Fanfuckingtasking really.

And that thought, that _wish_, was the mantra that kept her going as she slipped and slided through the powdery white forest. A forest which really was becoming even whiter by the second. And when she saw that in some places, their tracks had already been covered over by the blowing snow, Emily could feel her tension level rising even higher still.

Hotch must have sensed it. Or maybe he just wanted to reassure himself as well. But either way, he did point out, with a murmured whisper, that there was still enough of a path left to keep following along. And as long as they had some evidence of trampled snow, they'd be fine.

It couldn't be much farther anyway.

Which was true, at that point it shouldn't have been much farther. Because Hotch had just gestured to her ski hat lying on the ground, half covered in snow. And though she did snag it up with the tip of the Glock, it was sopping wet.

And freezing cold.

Which obviously meant that it was no good for Hotch to put on right then. And when she'd offered, twice, to give him back his own hat, he'd refused both times. But she knew that he was losing too much heat, and she was worried about hypothermia.

Really, she'd just be thrilled when they got back to the SUV.

There, they had warm, dry clothes and shelter from this God awful storm. And though it did occur to her that once they did get out of this wintery hell, by the time they came back to the area with reinforcements (if they could find the area again), the path from their tracks would be long gone. And at that point, even with cadaver dogs, with the freezing temperatures, it was going to be near impossible to find those bodies she'd stumbled over in the woods. But that was another thought she kept to herself.

It was another discussion that could wait until they were back out in civilization.

For now . . . she rubbed her nose against Hotch's jacket . . . it was just noise in her head. Speaking of noise, she'd just noticed that the sound of the wind was getting louder, and she was pretty sure that meant that they were getting close to the road.

The wind had been howling out there.

"Look," Hotch squinted while waving the flashlight beam against the trees, "I think I can see the headlights from the SUV through there."

So with this now, please God, being their last push, they tried to sprint along the last, fading outline of their earlier steps. And a minute later, when they did break through the trees, nearly tripping and falling over the brush that had now been covered over completely in snow, Emily nearly whooped with joy.

FINALLY!

And with Hotch now basically pulling her along, they made their way over the snow drifts, and around the front of the SUV. It was then though, that Emily realized that they'd just wandered out of one hell, and straight back into another.

Because as they came around to the driver's side of the vehicle, she saw that both the front and back doors were standing wide open. But when they rushed to look inside, the others were nowhere to be found.

And as they stood there by the open doors, with the fine layer of snow blowing in on the seats, Emily's panicked eyes snapped up to Hotch's. For a moment he looked too stunned to even speak. But then he seemed to see something over her shoulder. And hearing his breathless, "oh Jesus," at whatever was back there, she spun around.

And seeing then, what he'd seen a split second before, Emily's eyes began to fill. Because there on the ground, half under the back bumper, and half covered over by the drifting snow . . . was Morgan.

He was face down on the ground, and the snow all around his head, it was bright red.

There was blood everywhere.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Yeah, that was a long time to leave the others alone in the SUV with a maybe not dead vampire lying in the road next to them. Especially when they didn't know that he wasn't maybe not dead. And poor Morgan, AGAIN! I know. But we're going places here, we haven't been before. Please trust me :)_

_And yeah, shippers, I promised you'd get some stuff, you're getting some stuff. _

_As to the vampires, I've already said no sparkles here, but to be clear I think vampires should be SCARY, not at all 'pretty.' Think Nosferatu, not Brad Pitt. Come on, it's an undead creature that wants to suck the blood out of your body! How that was ever deemed to be 'romantic' is truly beyond me. But whatever, just to be clear, creepy dudes here. I'm actually using the "Gentlemen" from Buffy sort of as my mental inspiration. Not exactly like them, because they were more Victorian story book monsters and, not vampires at all, but that level of crazy ass insanity in a nice button down suit. _

_Thanks everyone!_


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